


The Jokes I Told While You Were Gone

by ToAStranger



Series: The Stories We'll Share When We Are Home [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Basically, Gen, Humor, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Thor: Ragnarok, Prank Wars, Text Therapy, or as well as I can predict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-10-31 11:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10898151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: Civil War has come and gone.What's a little harmless fun among returned friends?





	1. It's a dummy, Dummy!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheDamnRiddler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDamnRiddler/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Laughter I Missed While I Was Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11015139) by [ToAStranger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger). 



> A probably very small collection of silly little prompt fills that may or may not expand overtime. Started off with one, ended up rolling that same odd little quirky world into the second. Perhaps, someday, I'll expand it more. 
> 
> If further prompts of this nature or ideas occur to me, I will add the necessary tags and characters. :)
> 
> Edit: No longer just a small collection of silly little prompts. Now part of a bigger whole, but easily alone in its universe. See: The Laughter I Missed While I Was Away

His scream, for all that it lives up to his title, rattles through the walls of the Compound.  It is a very manly shriek, for all that it’s filled with fear; a bellow of a sound, really.  Instantly, Tony knows that Thor has found his surprise, stashed against one of the chairs in the common room.

He snickers to himself and burns his hand with the soldering iron. 

Bruce, patient man that he is, sighs and closes his eyes.  “What did you do?” 

“Nothing–” 

“ _Anthony_!” 

“–okay, maybe something.  A small something.  Like 10% of a something.”

The doors hiss open behind him and he spins to greet the red-faced God with a smile.  

“Thor!” 

“Anthony Stark, you would do well to explain these foul tricks.” Thor stalks in, and if he’d been wearing a cape there would’ve been billowing involved.

As it is… 

“Don’t worry, big guy!” Tony’s smile broadens.  “It’s a good, kind soul trapped in that little wooden dummy.  I wouldn’t leave something _evil_  just laying around.” 

“You are cruel.” 

“So say many a news outlet.” 

Bruce tries his best to mediate; he’d hate for Tony to walk away with Thor shaped bruises.  Again. 

“Thor, care to explain what’s got you so flustered?” he asks while cleaning his glasses.  

“Anthony has been taunting me with figures that entrap the spirit!” Thor points a finger, then slumps and pinches the bridge of his nose.  “It is as if I am living with Loki all over again.” 

Tony’s entire face shrugs.  “High praise.” 

Bruce elbows him.  “Thor, can you be a little more specific?”

“The– The figures.  The wooden dolls that speak with other’s voices.”  Thor grimaces.  “Tony knows the vessels of the spirit make me uneasy and has been leaving them for me to find.” 

“The–” Bruce takes a moment to connect what is being said with Tony’s mirth; plain as day in the way his eyes wrinkle at the corners.  “Thor… you– I mean, you know that dummies aren’t– they don’t _actually_ have people or– or _souls_  in them, right?  They’re _just_  dolls.  Inanimate.” 

Thor blinks.  Once, then twice.  Then looks at Tony’s smiling face with a scowl.

“You lied.” 

Tony shakes his head.  “Nope.  You presumed.  I just didn’t correct you.” 

Jaw working, Thor narrows his eyes on the both of them.  For a long moment, it seems as if violence might be the only answer.  

Then Thor cracks a brilliant smile, strides over the last few steps, and claps a hand onto Tony’s shoulder so hard that he nearly wobbles off of his wheelie chair.  

“How sly of you, Anthony!” Thor booms, ruffling Tony’s hair as Tony bats at his hands.  “A joke that is far less irksome and disturbing than leaving departed souls about to watch the living in envy.  I will have to pay you back.” 

Chuckling, Tony knocked his knuckles against Thor’s hip.  “Lookin’ forward to it, Point Break.  Hint: spiders.” 

Pensive for a moment, Thor hums and then nods once.  “I shall keep it under consideration.” 

Baffled, Bruce watches as Thor leaves in far better spirits than he came.  He stares at Tony with wide _what the fuck, Tony_  eyes, and only looks away when Thor pauses to turn to him in the doorway. 

“Still, I find the dolls unsettling.” Thor says, voice almost small.  “Please, remove the one in the living room.”  

Without another word, he’s gone.  Tony bends in half at the waist and laughs and laughs and laughs. 

Bruce wants to pull his own hair out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: in which Tony discovers Thor thinks puppets are used to capture souls and Tony totally doesn't abuse this knowledge.


	2. Gotta Go Fast

When Tony first heard, he laughed so hard he nearly fell over and cracked his head open on the corner of one of the glass holotables in the lab, holding his stomach with tears in his eyes.  Then, he’d done the inevitable and tossed Bruce a pair of keys that he barely caught in time, wiggling his brows and grinning with white teeth. 

“Take him around the track a few times,” Tony had said.  “It’ll be fun.  I’ll pop some corn.” 

It isn’t until he’d squeezed himself into the white McLaren 720S next to Thor’s, well, _hulking_  figure, Tony’s warning to leave it in automatic ringing in his ears, that it occurs to him that this is probably a terrible idea.  Like, a _really_ terrible idea. 

But Thor seems happy.  He’s beaming really, even as he keeps stalling, hands big on the steering wheel as Bruce tries to explain the components to him in a steady voice that contrasts with the white-knuckle grip he’s got on the car door and his seat belt.  

When he finally gets the engine to turn over, rumble deep and terrifying, and stay on past the first slow jerks of the car, Bruce relaxes a bit.  Then, Thor lays heavy on the gas, and Bruce is screaming.  

By the time they’ve left a number of burnt rubber marks over the track– and part of the lawn– Bruce is sweating and his hair is a mess and Thor is laughing next to him as the doors slide up.  Off to the side, Tony is sat with his feet kicked up into Rhodey’s lap, tossing a popcorn kernel up and catching it with his mouth.  Even Vision is hovering, amused despite himself. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Bruce huffs and scrubs a hand through his hair before trying to tame it back down. 

Tony juts his lower lip, batting his eyes up at him.  “But Brucie bear.” 

“I’m going to blow something up in your lab,” he adds. 

Rhodey’s shoulders are trembling as he laughs behind a hand.  Behind Bruce, Thor bounds up and claps both hands down onto his shoulders. 

“That was quite fun, Bruce.  We shall have to do it again.” Thor grins.  “Perhaps the Ferrari?” 

“No.” 

“Come now, Bruce!” Thor nudges him with a shoulder, eyes all blue and wicked mirth.  “Anthony’s Saleen is much faster.” 

“Tops out at 248mph,” Tony chimes in, grin broadening at Bruce’s dirty glare.  “The McLaren only goes 210.” 

Bruce’s fingers curl into fists at his sides, but despite his ire there is a lightness in his gaze– in all of their gazes– that has not been there for a while.  “Poison.  I’m going to poison you, Tony.  Very slowly.” 

Tony blows him a kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Banner teachers Thor to drive


	3. Gold is in the Eye of the Beholder

 

 

 

“Remind me exactly,” Stephen drolls as Tony leads Thor and him through mingling guests in the reception hall, fidgeting with his bow tie for what had to be the sixth time that evening.  “ _why_  you decided to bring me along?” 

Tony’s smile is bright and sharp when he looks up at him, the messy waves of his hair that Stephen and Thor had grown used to seeing around the Compound coiffed into an artfully mussed look for their formal outing; just another part of the armor that protected him from the million questions and flashing lights that blinded them on their way into the Charity Hall.  “Oh, come on, Strange.  You can’t tell me you don’t miss these things?” 

Stephen huffs out a little breath, plucking a long stemmed glass off of a passing tray and giving it a sniff before shrugging and knocking it back, other hand tucked carefully into his pocket and curling around the sling ring there.  “Perhaps.  Doesn’t answer my question, though.” 

In reply, Tony jabs a thumb in Thor’s direction.  “Much as I love big, brawny, and gorgeous over here, he isn’t as familiar with what we’re looking for as you are, Mr. Prophetic Dreams Guy.” 

Stephen lifts a brow, communicating in a single glance just how disappointed he is in Tony’s utter lack of creativity. 

“Besides,” Tony loops an arms, first through Thor’s elbow, and then through Stephen’s.  “I need some candy if we’re gonna play it casual.  You both make pretty good distractions.” 

Stephen blinks down at him and then up at Thor. 

“Ah,” Thor nods slow, expression solemn if not for the wicked glint in his eyes.  “A very wise decision, Anthony.” 

“Am I missing something?” 

Tony hums, pleased as he is amused.  “If people are too busy talking about _Tony Stark: Playboy Strikes Again_ , they won’t realize we’re here for a very specific purpose.” 

Realization dawns, and Stephen nods.  “Ah.” 

“Plus, maybe it’ll keep the rats scrambling long enough that they stop asking me about Cap and Co.” 

Mouth thinning, Stephen bites his tongue.  He can see the way the light dims in Tony’s eyes, but he knows better by now than to comment.  

The mess of the Civil War– or, as the press had lovingly dubbed it _Captain America and Iron Man’s Big Break Up_ – and the Accords had taken their toll on Tony Stark and the remaining Avengers that lingered stateside; ghosts of what was once a great team.  The brunt of that had fallen on Tony’s shoulders.  He handled himself with care, certainly, and was the poster boy for the Accords, spending endless days and nights working with Everett Ross and the Task Force and the UN delegation and _against_ anything Thaddeus Ross put on the table.  Though Thor and Stephen and Bruce had not appeared to them until long after the dust had settled, they can still see that Tony is trying to pick up the pieces.

It doesn’t help that Thor and Stephen and Bruce had appeared with worse news.

Stephen looks over the top of Tony’s head and shares a look with Thor.  He shakes his head once, very swiftly, and then plasters on a smile as fake as Tony’s own as one of the event organizers comes their way.  

Stephen knows it’s going to be a long night. 

* * *

“ _Who the actual fuck_.” 

Stephen presses his lips together to keep from grinning.  He knows it shouldn’t be funny– there’s a very real danger, a very real powerful object hanging in the balance– but watching Tony get flustered as he is continuously outbid by an anonymous donor has Stephen absolutely tickled.  

It’s almost as fun as seeing his nose wrinkle up anytime Stephen performs any sort of magic in or around Tony’s general vecenity.  

“Who is this guy?” Tony hisses, holding his paddle up again as the announcer on stage nods and ups the bid in reply.  “I mean, seriously, _who is this guy_?” 

“300,000 dollars from Mr. Stark.  300,000 dollars for the infamous Black Orlov Diamond.” The rep scans the room, though her eyes go to the woman sitting at the back with her fingers pressed to her ear, whispering into a headset.  “Do I hear a raise?” 

“350,000.” The woman calls after a breath of pause. 

Tony hisses, then lifts his paddle again.  “400.” 

“Mr. Stark raises B.W. to 400,000.  Do I hear a counter?” 

Thor crosses his arms and leans over.  “This is becoming quite the competition.” 

“It always is,” Stephen replies. 

“450,” the woman in the back says. 

“Oh, for fuck’s–” Tony stands, all agitated lines.  “ _One million_.” 

Stephen balks, nearly choking on his champagne. 

Thor, of all things, actually claps– face split into a broad grin.  

On the stage, the announcer falters and then clears her throat.  “That’s– That’s one million from Mr. Stark for the priceless Orlov Diamond.” 

The crowd is in a frenzy now.  Thor is watching avidly, eyes wide and delighted in that childish way he often gets when dealing with _mortal_  things.

The woman in the back finally slumps, casting a dirty look Tony’s way.  The rep up front lifts a brow, but the woman shakes her head.  

“ _Finally_ ,” Tony slumps back into his seat. 

Up front, the auctioneer clears her throat again.  “One million, going once…. Going twice…. Sold, to Mr. Stark for one million dollars.” 

Stephen reaches out and pats Tony’s shoulder, offering a smile when Tony looks his way.  “Good job, Stark.” 

“Thanks,” Tony mutters. 

“That brings our charity auction to a close,” the announcer says, smile wide.  “I’d like to thank all of those who contributed so much today to the relief foundations.  Please, enjoy the rest of the evening’s festivities.” 

Stephen pushes himself to his feet with a soft groan.  They’ve been sitting for far too long, but it was well worth it, knowing that soon– very soon– the black gem would be in safe hands.  

People start to swarm them, coming around to congratulate Tony on a successful win, and Tony takes it in stride with that smile of his plastered on his face.  Thor seems to soak the revelry up; Stephen wonders distantly if they have anything like this on Asgard. 

“So,” Stephen says when they finally manage to extract themselves from the mess of high society clamoring after them.  “When are we going to get out of here?  I’m starving, and as much as I enjoy a thousand dollar a plate meals, they never seem to satisfy.” 

Some of that wicked delight returns to Tony’s eyes as he begins to lead them through the crowd.  “Not a fan of pate or caviar, Dr. Strange?  And, honestly, it’s not _just_  a thousand dollars a plate.  This is for children.  They’re at least five.” 

Stephen snorts. 

“That was a wonderful time, Anthony.” Thor booms, as he always does when he’s excited, clapping both hands a little too hard onto Tony’s shoulders as they step out of the Charity Hall and onto the red carpet they’d rolled out for the event.  “Please, tell me we will do it again sometime.” 

“Sure, big guy.” Tony grins, easy and steady as the cameras flash.  “Bring me a bit of that Asgardian gold and we’ll talk.” 

For a moment, Thor seems pensive.  He frowns down at Tony as the genius passes his tile over to the valet as the car pulls up; an overly generous tip somewhere in there that makes Stephen smile.  

“I’d be happy to bring you whatever you wish of Asgard, Anthony.” Thor finally says, just as Tony’s taking his keys.  “Though, why you would request something as unvaluable as _gold_  is beyond me.” 

Tony chokes on his own tongue just as Stephen laughs and laughs and laughs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: the first time Thor is introduced to "mortal money" is at an auction with Tony. Tony keeps getting outbid by a mystery bidder over the phones (with the initials B. W.) and is getting annoyed.


	4. Casual Expenditures

 

Pepper takes one look at Tony and _knows_.

She crosses her arms over her chest, ponytail swishing as her head cants over just so, lips pressing thin.  Tony knows that look.  Tony has been on the intimate end of that look. 

A cold sweat breaks across the small of his back, his neck, his hairline.  “Um.  I can explain?” 

The toe of her shoe– Nancy Gonzalez, Tony knows, not nearly as intimidating as her Jimmy Choos or _god forbid_  her Louboutins, but still frightening _as fuck_ , crocodile skin and all– taps against the dark tiles of the floor.  “I certainly hope you _can_ , Tony, because I’m really having a hard time trying to reconcile an expenditure this absurd _on the company card_.” 

“...Thor did it?” 

For a moment, Pepper just stares at him, but when Rhodey starts howling somewhere behind where Tony is sitting on the couch, staring up at her like a kicked puppy, she can do nothing but close her eyes and press her fingertips to her brow.  

“Come on, Pep.” Tony tries, voice a little high in that way it gets when he’s stressed about stressing her out, and that’s almost worse because, for _once_  in a _really long time_ , Tony had been doing exceptionally well– Compound full of friendly faces again, shoulders a bit straighter, smile a bit more real.  “It’s not– I mean, at least it’s not as bad as that time I bought the private jet with the retractable stripper pole.” 

And he’s very right.  It _isn’t_.  But that line of reasoning won’t be winning him any arguments. 

“ _How,”_ she hisses instead, and Tony holds out his hands, brows flying up.  

“He wanted to go pick some things up– food, clothes, you know– and Bruce was with him.  I figured… I figured he’d be good?” 

Rhodey is still cackling as he wheels over, still sweaty and smelly from a few long hours working with this week’s newest braces; they get better and better each time.  “Bruce– Bruce told me everything.  How Thor was _so sure_  he knew what he was doing; didn’t have the heart to tell the guy that you don’t have to _haggle_  or one-up the prices at the grocery store.” 

The corner of Tony’s mouth twitches, but he quickly schools the look when it gets him one of Pepper’s brows arched in reply. 

“Big guy spent _twenty-five hundred_  on a damn bunchel of bananas,” Rhodey adds, eyes wrinkled up at the corner, head tipping back again.  “Oh, man, I wish I’d been there.” 

Tony elbows him.  “Not.   _Helping_.” 

Taking one deep breath, then a second, Pepper rounds the coffee table between them and settles on the edge, hands steepling briefly in front of her mouth.  Tony stares up at her with big eyes. 

“Okay,” Pepper nods, tersely and only once.  “Okay, not a big deal.  We’ll just write it off.  Team expenses.  For new gear and supplies.” 

“New gear and supplies?” Tony frowns.  “It was a couple bags of chips and some healthy junk–” 

“ _New gear and supplies_ ,” Pepper repeats and Tony snaps his mouth shut and bobs his head.  “What the IRS doesn’t know, won’t hurt them.  Unless you’d rather I take it out of your hide?” 

Tony’s face colors a bit, and he makes a face that might mean: _well, now that you mention it_ … 

But she knows better and huffs out a laugh before reaching over to shove at his shoulder.  “Don’t let it happen again, understand?” she casts Rhodey a dirty look.  “No matter how _funny_.” 

Rhodey lifts both hands in surrender, eyes alight with mirth. 

“Good,” Pepper hums, smoothing her skirt down as she stands, gaze falling back to Tony.  “If that will be all, Mr. Stark?” 

Tony blinks up at her; for a moment, she can see the abject longing on his face.  It steals her breath, makes her ache, that same way she ached so terribly for him all those months ago when Vision retrieved him, bloody and broken, from Siberia.  

She didn’t trust herself, then, the break so fresh.  She trusts herself now. 

“That’ll be all, Miss Potts.”

With a fond smile, she reaches down, ruffles the perpetual mop of his hair and leans down to kiss his forehead.  “I’ll see you at the board meeting Friday.  Don’t forget to pack for the weekend; you’ll be straight on a flight to meet with the Chinese delegation in Beijing.  We need their support–” 

“–for the Global Emergency Clause, I remember, Pep.” Tony smiles, though it’s a much more tired one.  “I swear to god, if China or Russia uses veto power _one more time_ –” 

“Best behavior, Mr. Stark.” Pepper chides.  “See you in Manhattan.” 

Her heels click across the floor as she leaves, smiling as she passes Bruce on her way out the doors, knowing that Tony is in good company.  That, for once, Tony might be safe for a while.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Thor only knows how to pay for things after watching Tony at an auction. Tony makes the mistake of handing over his credit card when Thor goes into the city with Banner.


	5. Stop! Hammer Time

The thing Tony dislikes most about Beijing is the air.  The traffic is nothing to shake a stick at either, but Tony’s dealt with traffic all over the world.  No, in all honesty, it is the air that causes the most problems.  Even in the suit-- the few times Tony has  _ had _ to wear the suit, anyway-- with the filters maxed out couldn’t always keep the smog from slipping in, clouding up his already shoddy lungs, making him wheeze.  

He’s lucky he’s inside for this visit.  Even if the haze settled over the peaks of towers light up from within, looking a bit like a halo around the city, are near enchanting. 

He’s caught up for a moment, so long that he doesn’t notice he isn’t alone, standing and staring out the vast expanse of windows from the 80th floor of the Chinese World Trade Center.  It reminds Tony distantly of the One World Observatory back in New York; the glass floors and expansive windows looking out over Beijing the same way the Observatory looked out over NYC, even if the Atmosphere bar is a little more stringent about who is and who isn’t allowed in it. 

“Mr. Stark.” 

Tony blinks away from the distant sight of city lights and up at King T’Challa, drink still clutched in hand.  “Your Majesty,” he nods. 

T’Challa’s small smile broadens.  “Please, I do believe we’re rather beyond such formalities.” 

“You started it,” Tony shrugs, but he’s grinning.  “I enjoyed your speech today.  I think we’ve finally won them over.” 

“All thanks to your team’s work with the Office of Legal Affairs.” T’Challa steps up, tucking his free hand into the pocket of his slacks as he joins Tony in overlooking the city.  “Ms. Walters is… a sight to behold.” 

Tony doesn’t fight his broad smile.  “She scares me shitless too.” 

“At least I am not alone in that respect,” T’Challa huffs on a laugh.  

Tony hums and takes a pull from his drink.  

The wind must be strong tonight; he can see it galing against the smog, pushing it away from the streets.  From way up here, Tony wonders what it would be like to drop into that wind, to let it sweep him up and away with it.  

It’s a tempting thought. 

“How are they?” he finally asks. 

T’Challa sighs.  “Mr. Stark--” 

“Like I don’t know where they are,” Tony lets his head lull over just enough to level T’Challa a dry look.  “Don’t worry, big cat, I’m not going to go blowing whistles.  I haven’t, yet, have I?” 

“No,” T’Challa inclines his head, shoulders slumping slightly, and Tony catches someone shift just out of the corner of his eye, but T’Challa holds up his hand and whichever Dora Milaje was about to approach takes a step back.  “Though, I cannot help but wonder if that is because you genuinely wish them no harm, or if it is because you have no evidence to confirm your hypothesis.” 

Tony’s nose wrinkles.  “Guess they haven’t been singing my praises if  _ that’s _ what you think.” 

“I think that you are a powerful man with a lot of resources-- some that even rival my own.” T’Challa says, twisting to face him proper.  “But I think you believe, wholeheartedly,  in what the Accords stand for. Or  _ could _ stand for .  Which, if I were housing fugitives of their legislation, could cause problems.” 

For a moment, Tony just stares.  Then, he tips his head just slightly.  “Do  _ you _ believe in the Accords?” 

“I would not be here if I did not,” T’Challa assures with another one of those small smiles.  “My father’s legacy or otherwise.” 

“I’m glad I’ve got you working with me on them, then.  They’re a headache and a half, but it would be much worse if… well.” 

“Yes,” T’Challa sighs his agreement and then regards Tony much the same way Tony had regarded him not a second earlier.  “You know where they are?  Beyond a shadow of a doubt?” 

Tony lifts a dry brow, mouth twitching. 

“And yet you do nothing about it.” 

“And yet.” 

T’Challa looks at him for another long second and then nods, once, firmly.  “They are safe.  They are well.  They are… restless.  And a handful.” 

Tony barks out a laugh, head tipping back as it ripples through him, and he balances a hand on T’Challa’s arm.  There is a woman there just as suddenly as there wasn’t, her scowl severe, though she does not move to remove Tony’s hand.  

T’Challa smiles, almost indulgently.  “A familiar sentiment, I’m assuming?” 

“Oh,” Tony shakes his head.  “Oh, you have no idea.” 

“No,” T’Challa’s smile broadens.  “But I imagine I will.” 

* * *

When Tony returns to his rooms, not long after his talk with T’Challa and another far more dull conversation with a delegate he can’t really remember the name or face of, he pulls out his tablet and blinks down at the notification.  He swipes it open, stripping out of his tie and suit jacket as the call rings.

“ _ Tony _ ,” Pepper greets with a breath. 

“Pep,” Tony falters.  “You seem… ruffled.” 

She waves a hand.  “Nothing to worry about.  How was it?” 

“Grand,” Tony grins with all his teeth.  “We’re definitely going to get the emergency clause pushed through; tomorrow, we’ll tackle the Enhanced regulations.  Some of the shit  _ still _ in there is appalling.” 

“No more tracker bracelets,” Pepper replies, looking flush.  “That’s a start.” 

“I’ll consider it progress when the  _ indefinite detainment without trial _ is ousted.  Russia might like that, might do that to regular Joes too, but I guarantee the pressure from the other nations isn’t gonna be pretty.  Scared or not, it goes against the human rights laws that the UN likes to tote, so…” Tony cuts his ramble off, eyes narrowing at the image in front of him.  “You sure you’re okay, Pepper Pot?” 

Pepper sighs, head hanging heavy.  “There was a… thing.  Today.” 

“A thing?” 

“Well, I-- I came over to discuss something with Thor and then that-- that  _ kid _ showed up, out of nowhere, I might add-- scared the  _ life _ out of me with that little… spider dohickey--” 

“ _ Dohickey _ ?” Tony scoffs.  “It’s a little more than that, Pep.  Tracker, camera, LifeAlert button, all wrapped up in a neat little--” 

“-- _ dohickey _ ,” Pepper repeats, eyes narrowed dangerously.  “That looks like a giant  _ spider _ , I might add, and I just… panicked.  A little.” 

Tony’s brow fly up.  “You panicked.” 

Pepper purses her lips for a moment.  “It was crawling across the back of the couch, Tony, what did you expect?  But now!   _ Now _ , Thor is  _ distraught _ because  _ apparently _ no one is supposed to touch his precious  _ hammer _ and the kid is in a blind  _ panic _ because one of his toys is broken and-- Tony, you really need to get a babysitter for these people.” 

“I’m… I’m sorry, backup, did you just say you  _ picked up Thor’s hammer  _ in order to kill a very  _ fake  _ spider?” Tony sits on the foot of the bed, legs pretty much going out from under him, some mix of hysterical mirth and overwhelming exhaustion zipping through him.  

Pepper just waves her hand again, like it isn’t a big deal, and  _ jesus, she doesn’t know _ , Tony realizes.  “Apparently, the kid was in on some kind of payback with Thor, but  _ I _ got caught in the crossfire.” 

In one moment, Tony is staring at her, completely dumbfounded and a little bit in love, and in the next he’s laughing, howling really, so hard that he has to lay back on the bed and hold his stomach.  He laughs until tears well up in his eyes, prick at the corners, and his side begins to ache along with his lungs.  

“Tony,” Pepper scolds, though her expression is not nearly as severe as it could be, even if her arms are crossed over her chest.  “Tony, come on, it isn’t that funny.” 

“Oh, Pep.” Tony breathes when he peters off, rolling onto his side to grin at her projection.  “Pep, thank you.  You’ve no idea how much I needed that.” 

Her expression softens considerably.  “Well… you’re welcome, then.  But I’m serious about the babysitter.”

Tony snorts.  “I’ll look into it.  Promise.” 

“FRIDAY can only do so much,” Pepper reminds him, though she’s smiling now too.  “She’s still a baby AI.  It’s one thing to watch after you, but Thor and Bruce and Vision and Rhodey? Plus, the occasional wizard and spiderkid? That’s a lot for her to handle. No offense, FRI.” 

“None taken, Miss Potts.” FRIDAY replies.  “And, please, boss has taken to referring to me as a VI until he can finish tackling the next round of amendments.”

Tony beams.  “That’s my girl.” 

Pepper huffs.  “Get some sleep, Tony.  You look exhausted.  I’m glad to hear things are going well.” 

“Yeah,” Tony bobs his head, reluctant to end the call.  “Yeah, me too.” 

“ _ Sleep _ , Mr. Stark.” Pepper warns.  “Will that be all?” 

Tony smiles.  “That’ll be all, Miss Potts.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: the time they found out Pepper could wield Mjolnir cuz spiders.


	6. Jesus, Take the Wheel

Tony purses his lips, squinting down at the papers in front of him.  He shifts in his seat, happily ignoring the impatient tap of a toe on his office floor, flipping to the next page with a drawn out sigh.  Rubbing over his jaw, he hums, and it’s the straw that breaks the camel's proverbial back. 

“Tony Stark, if you don’t sign and approve that  _ this instant _ , I will bury you in paperwork until January.” 

Tony’s mouth twitches. He reaches absently for the pen off to the side and signs his name with a flourish.

Pepper deflates, taking the papers as he passes them back.  “Why must you always make things difficult?  You either don’t read them at all or you spend hours agonizing over the smallest details.” 

“Not my fault you still insist on living in the Stone Age, Pepper Pot.” Tony raises his hands, but the innocence in the gesture is beguiled by his smile.  “You could at least  _ email _ them instead of wasting paper.  You’re the reason the rain forest is dying.” 

Pepper lifts a brow at the absurdity of that statement. 

“Also, I’m still kinda caught up in the fact that you’re putting  _ Thor  _ and  _ Spider-man _ on  _ budgets _ .” 

“If you’d stop giving them such outrageous gifts, I wouldn’t have to.” Pepper replies with a prim bob of her ponytail.  “It’s as much for you as it is for them.  Spend your own millions, Tony.” 

Something buzzes on Tony’s desk.  He blindly reaches for his phone, pulling it to him and unlocking it with a swipe of the biometric print reader.  “Technically, as the majority stock holder, I  _ am _ spending my own  _ billions _ .” 

The look that Pepper gives him makes him wheeze out a laugh and wave a lazy hand, but it’s too late and she’s already started spinning her wheels.  Mostly, he just likes the way he can still get her worked up, even after all of this time, with the same lame jokes. 

He looks down at his phone, searching for a message on the holoscreen as Pepper cajoles him about  _ company proprietary,  _ expecting to find a notification from Jennifer Walters or one of the two Rosses after he slipped up with Ms. Everheart outside of the Trade Center in Beijing.  Even though it had only been a day and a half since he got back, it feels a bit like a distant nightmare the way political dealings always seemed to when Tony found himself back at the Compound, surrounded by people he actually  _ likes  _ on a pretty semi-regular basis.

Especially now that it’s summer and Parker is around a lot more often than not. 

There isn’t a message on his phone, though.  Nothing new, anyways; a couple of old emails and a few notifications from Strange on photon collisions and creation of mass from the last time the good doctor had let him take a long look at his sling ring “magic.”  Tony frowns, but thinks nothing of it, setting it aside to give his focus back to where Pepper is winding down.  

He smiles and lets her lecture him. 

* * *

It’s four days later and Tony is sitting at his desk again, a very stern look on his face, or as stern as he can get as Peter sits in front of him in full garb and fidgets as Tony gestures to the small, broken spider on his desk.  

“Wanna tell me how this keeps happening?” 

Peter’s voice cracks.  “It’s a spider, Mr. Stark!  I mean, I’m not afraid of them but, uh…. Most people see a giant spider and--” 

“Lose their damn minds?” 

“--yeah.” Peter scrubs a hand at the back of his head, hesitates, and then peels his mask off; he’s always wary of doing so on the Compound grounds and Tony understands why.

There are eyes everywhere, even if Tony’s firewalls are the best there are, even if FRIDAY kills any bug that tries, but even she can’t account for androids phasing through walls and floors and ceilings.  Peter is wary-- even with the contract Tony’d drawn up with Jennifer specifically for him to keep his identity safe, a minor under Tony’s charge until he reaches age, his failings on Tony’s shoulders if they should happen -- and he has every right to be.  Tony’s kind of proud that he’s so careful; honored that the kid still trusts him so much. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.” Peter sighs, scrubbing his hands through his hair, and it stands on end.  “I know you said to be careful; I’m trying, really I am.  And that time away from the suit really helped me, y’know, figure things out!  I’m not complaining, not one bit, and I don’t wanna talk bad about Lottie but sometimes she can be a little--” 

Tony holds up a hand, lips pressed into a thin line, laughter tight in the back of his throat.  “Easy, kid.  CHARLOTTE is a big girl, but she’s still brand new.  There’ll be kinks.  She’s just looking out for your best interests for my peace of mind.  And I’m not mad at you for breaking your toys.” 

“You aren’t?” Peter perks. 

“No,” Tony shakes his head.  “But I’ve been put on a leash, unfortunately, so I think we’re going to have to start teaching you to fix these things instead of formatting new ones.  How’s that sound?” 

“That sounds great, Mr. Stark!  Can we-- I mean, can we start now?” 

Tony laughs, pulling open the right hand desk drawer and rummaging around in it.  “Sure thing, Aragog.  I’ve got some tools around here somewhere.” 

“That’s-- That would be awesome!” 

He shuts that drawer when he can’t find what he needs and opens the left hand drawer with a little jerk.  Shoving a few papers aside, he digs through and then falters at the sight of a clunky old flip phone.  It’s not the reminder that makes him stop, but the flashing red light in the corner, and before he realizes it, he’s got it in his shaking hands, the taste of tin at the back of his throat as he wrenches the ancient thing open and pulls up the only message available. 

_ I hear you’re fighting the accords. Change of heart? _

Tony stares and stares, cheek twitching. At first, there’s relief, warm and tingling along his scalp, his mind already gone to a hundred and five different, terrible scenarios.  A hundred and six other messages he could’ve received instead of this one. 

Then, there is anger, twisting up in his chest and  _ burning _ .  He sucks in a breath, realizing he’d hadn’t since seeing that little flashing light, and his teeth set and his jaw firms.  He knows T’Challa must’ve passed some sentiment along, must’ve mentioned something about their work or about Tony, because there is no way Steve would reach out like this after a goddamn  _ year _ \--

“Mr. Stark?” 

Tony blinks up.  “Yeah?” 

“Should I--” Peter falters, a bit flush.  “Should I get Mr. Rhodes or Dr. Banner or something?” 

Tony laughs; brittle and short; he throws the phone back into the drawer.  “No.  No, I’m good.  Where were we?” 

Hesitating, Peter regards him a second longer.  Then, he leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk between them as Tony starts running through the schematics of the little spider-bot, holograms lighting the space up between them. 

* * *

He forgets about the text for five more days.  

Then, on a night where he’s running low on drive but high on coffee, he pulls the stupid phone out of the desk, sitting back to prop his feet up against the edge, with a tumbler of  _ very  _ good,  _ very _ well-aged scotch whiskey in hand-- Johnnie Walker Blue, you  _ genius _ .  He thumbs over the giant keys and feels offended on behalf of his entire tech department. 

_ Obviously you don’t know how politics work.  I’m not fighting them; I’m FIXING them.  _

It’s just biting enough, Tony thinks.  But then he can’t help but add: 

_ Maybe ask Simba if he’s got a copy of the old ones around so you can take some comparative notes.  There have been a lot of changes since you disappeared into the mystic, pumpkin.  _

He thinks that will be that.  

* * *

That is certainly not that. 

Two days later, Tony’s actually eating breakfast instead of drinking it, Bruce sitting across from him at the table-- Rhodey and Thor suspiciously absent-- and his personal phone buzzes.  When he opens it up, he blinks down at the message, tosses his head back and laughs.  

_ I’ll admit, you’ve made some progress. _

It’s so obscenely  _ Steve Rogers _ that Tony wants to keep laughing for hours.  He only calms when Bruce sends him an inquisitive look that Tony waves off.  

He doesn’t think the green shade Bruce would take if he knew would be very becoming at the moment. 

The interface of his own phone works much faster than the archaic thing Steve had given him.  He’d mocked up a sloppy router transfer with FRIDAY’s help after last time, just in case Steve ever texted him with an  _ actual _ emergency instead of idle chitchat that they shouldn’t even be having.  His reply is much faster with the sleek holoscreen than it would’ve been.  Three texts stringing along, one right after the other.  

_ Some??? Do you have any idea how much money and time has gone into these things?  _

_ And before you say it, NO, not signing was not an option. Or don't you remember me telling you if we didn't do something it would be done TO us? _

_ Also: you're welcome.  _

He wants to bare his teeth at Steve.  Wants to rub it in his face, show him all the good he’s doing with the Accords, and the good people that stuck with Tony through it.  

That he’s doing good work.  That he’s fixing everything, just like he said he would, and that Steve threw all of that away.  

Then Steve replies, and all of the fight drains right out of him.  A bone aching exhaustion fills him, rattles his insides, and he slumps in his chair.  

_ Not signing wasn’t an option for you.  I’ll respect that.  I’d just rather have someone try do something to me than sign onto something I can’t trust. _

‘ _ I hate you _ ,’ Tony wants to reply.  ‘ _ You ruined everything _ .’ 

But Bruce nudges at his foot under the table and Tony blinks up.  He offers him a weary smile that makes Bruce sigh.  He stands, rounds the table to Tony, and scrubs a hand through Tony’s hair. 

“I know you won’t talk about it,” Bruce says, unaware of who’s on the other side of Tony’s phone, but there for him anyways.  “But I’ll be down in the lab when you’re ready.” 

“Thanks, Brucie.” Tony hums, leaning back in his chair as Bruce smiles and pads away, calling out to him.  “You’re my favorite!” 

Bruce tosses a lopsided smile back at him.  “You say that to all of the geniuses.” 

“Only you, string bean!  Only ever you!” 

But then Bruce is gone and Tony is alone with his cold toast and half eaten eggs.  He pushes the plate away and thinks--  _ knows _ \-- that this isn’t a good idea.  

He has everything he could ever need, here, with Bruce and Thor and occasionally Peter and Stephen.  He’s got too much on his plate, with SI and the Accords, with the Maria Foundation and the new scholarship and internship programs, with pushing clean energy development when he’s not traveling to meet with UN representatives in over a hundred different countries. 

He doesn’t need to do this to himself.  Doesn’t want to.  

So he replies:  _ And you couldn't trust me to watch your back? _

Then, quickly and dismissively, before he let’s himself wander down the path of No Return, he adds: 

_ Nice catching up, Rogers. It'll please you to know that an entire continent away, you still make me want to pull my own hair out.  Sleep well, it's getting late in your neck of the woods.  _

It’s as good as a goodbye can get, with Tony’s usual flare for dramatics.  He’s surprised he’s not writing it across the skies.  

But he wants Steve to know that he still hurts.  That Steve might’ve hurt him worse than anyone else, bar maybe Obie, and he wants Steve to know that Tony survived anyway.  Survived and still bites and won’t hesitate--

_ Likewise. Get some rest. I can talk to you later. _ .  

Tony hesitates, some part of him tempted to delete all of this.  To get rid of every scrap of evidence.  To close that door Steve’s left open for him despite Tony’s purposeful goading; his apparent anger and hurt. 

He doesn’t.  Just leaves it there, hanging wide open. 

* * *

Then, as everything is wont to do, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.  Tony nearly breaks the stupid, old dial-up phone as he slams the receiver back into its cradle, a nasty string of expletives spewing from his mouth as he curls over and buries his hands in his hair.  

The world is blowing up around them, and over exaggeration or not, Tony can’t do a single fucking  _ thing _ about it.  

In that moment, Tony wants to rip the Accords to pieces in front of the entire General Assembly.  Wants to spit on them.  Light them on fire.  Watch as the two Rosses pop a blood vessel.  

He takes a slow breath, squeezing his eyes shut, and presses a little too hard against his own temples.  Until the pain is enough to keep him from doing something stupid, like going against direct orders to  _ stand down _ while a city tries to piece itself back together after  _ another _ tragedy.  

The Prado is fucking rubble.  There are people dead, injured, and missing.  But Spain is standing firm; they’ll take care of this on their own.  It’s a terrorist attack, nothing more.  

Tony knows, though, that they were after the black diamond hidden safely away at Stephen’s Sanctum.  That it was on display there until Tony bought it at auction.  This is his fault.  He knows that.

Worse: he can’t do anything to fix it.  

His phone buzzes.  Pulling it up, he rubs a tired hand over his eyes and laughs at the text from Rhodey that tells him, in no uncertain terms, not to do anything  _ stupid _ .  

He’s going to reply when he falters.  Stops.  Stalls completely.  

_ I won’t _ , he types back and then pulls up another message string, body suddenly vibrating as he pulls up Steve’s last text. 

_ Talk to you later. _

“Well, Spangled Man with the Plan,” Tony breathes.  “It’s later.” 

His fingers fly across the screen as he calls out a directive to FRIDAY.  She’s already locating as he shoots off one text; then the next. 

_ Still playing hero? _

_ Check the news, Brutus. There's something you should see.  _

The next part is the hardest part.  He’s never had a problem with admitting his mistakes; Pepper and Rhodey would probably say he admits to things that aren’t even his own fault.  But he has to grit his teeth through this next one, has to swallow past the phantom ache in his chest, but it needs to be done-- and he  _ knows  _ Steve Rogers.  

Knows him and how his brain works.  Knows-- even now, after everything, after  _ Siberia _ \-- that Steve is stubborn but  _ good _ at his core.  That he wants to  _ do good _ .  It’s why Tony had thought he and Steve were such good friends-- _ before _ \-- because they both wanted to do the same exact thing.  

However, he also knows that Steve has and will rebuff him.  Steve can be petty, again like Tony, and it’s something Tony’s always kind of liked about him.  His little shit attitude, just on the edge of a fight all the time, sweet and kind except when he isn’t.  Right now, they aren’t on the best terms.  Not even good terms.  Tony’s pretty sure that neither of them even  _ want _ to be on good terms. 

So he sucks it up-- because this is  _ more important _ than whatever bullshit might lay between them-- and admits a fraction of the faults he knows the Accords have.  Admits his own fault in letting something like that rule him. 

_ I'll be the first to admit the restrictions of the Accords blow. They're too tight on the best of days -- I'm working on it. But my hands are tied. There's no sign of Enhanced, just foul play, even if they were after something I already have in a vault.   _

Then, because Tony knows Steve would ask, he adds the why: 

_ They want to keep it strictly local law enforcement despite the New Avengers’ offer of help. They won't catch the bastards in time.  _

There isn’t an immediate reply.  Tony knows that Steve has the phone on him, he’s too righteous not to, just in case Tony  _ actually called _ .  

Still, the pause lingers, and Tony pushes one last time.  

_ How do you feel about breaking a few laws today, Steven? _

He’d like to say he doesn’t hold his breath.  He’d like to pretend that he doesn’t care; if asked, he’d say he didn’t, maybe laugh a little, definitely make a joke out of it.  The truth of it is, he  _ does _ care.  He cares about the disaster in Madrid and he needs to know that, when he can’t fix the situation himself, there’s someone  _ who can _ .  

The phone buzzes where he’s clutching it and Tony’s smile is blinding when he reads Steve’s only reply: 

_ Where am I headed? _

He has FRIDAY send the coordinates from where she’d been hacking CCTVs and spiderwebbing through the surveillance systems in order to track the perpetrators down to a single location.  She hesitates, knowing just where it’s going, but when he assures her that it’s okay, she pings out the location and then proceeds to scold Tony for missing dinner. 

Leaning back in his seat, staring down at the single reply, Tony feels some impossible mix of weightlessness and heaviness.  Something still aches in him, bone deep and terribly cold, but another part of him tingles-- the very tips of his fingers and toes-- a tension in his shoulders and neck easing.  He realizes distantly that his heart is racing in his chest.  Thundering in his ears. 

He doesn’t know what he’s just started, but he knows he’s started  _ something _ . 

* * *

The next day, he sees the headlines--  _ VIGILANTE CATCHES TERRORISTS; NEW FRIEND OR FOE _ ?-- and Tony thinks maybe it’s something  _ good _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically included in this chapter-- prompt: Pepper puts Thor on a budget.


End file.
